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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
T.I.
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Clifford Harris
Composer
Gamaliel Hilson
Composer
Rodrequez Yancy
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
C4
Producer
Kip
Producer
Elliot Carter
Engineer
JD Butler
Recording Engineer
John Frye
Mixing Engineer
John Horesco
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Still kickin' shit make a bitch go cray
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
[Verse 2]
Still kickin' flav
Got my swag on turn up
Came with a zip
Let the whole thing burn up
All I know get dough
Keep pimpin'
Taught me that in '85, never learned nothing different
All I see is haters in my rear view
Millions in my windshield got a clear view
I trained myself
Go deaf for a broke ****
That way when you talkin'
I don't hear you, listen
Hey, still poppin', give a shit about it
Fuck that shit you talkin'
Look at you see you ain't about it
Look at it see you don't want it
Should hardly be an opponent
When you sittin' next to TI
It look inferior, don't it
Give a damn if you don't know
I've achieved e'rything you could hope for
If being a real **** turned into a corporation
Look at me shorty I should be the logo
Please no photos as I step in that magic
Got four hoes in the in two door Bentley
What's happenin'
She whip the ashes then she coming with me
But if not I leave her
She mean nothing to me
I pull up, hop out give the valet my keys
I run the city bitch, I'm parking for free
And who the **** right here
Talkin' to me
There gon' be problem
You keep botherin' me man
I came in this bitch to spend twenties and fifty G
What you tried to park here, that ain't my Bentley
Kay listen to me now
God as my witness
Keep on in your earnin's I take your opinion
I swear, ****
[Verse 3]
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Still kickin' shit make a bitch go cray
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
[Verse 4]
Focused on the money
Fuck shit, forget about it
I bought a Lamborghini
Wrecked it, give a shit about it
Get up out it, call a Uber
Go and buy a new one
I gotta run a bag up, it's extra for the blue one
Got five hundred bags off in Chattanooga
Go and put it up
And take a hundred mo' the gang here
Two rules get money, ****, stay real
At all costs ****, at all costs ****
Take a hit of this and run your balls off
And **** it ain't really beefin' if you called off
Play a bit to the left call it southpaw
Fuck around get your mouth wired
Gotta weed y'all
Better stand down 'fore they be a man down
Guns up, hands down
That's exactly how I caught y'all
Okay now one day I retire
Put me in the hall of fame
But you lame don't forget what I done taught y'all
I put the fear of God in ya
Oh you **** hard is ya?
I can see the broad in ya
Put your cut then you gotta make a move
Make a choice, either go out like a bitch
Or get your ass kicked
God damn that'll be horrible
So pipe down, ****
[Verse 5]
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Still kickin' shit make a bitch go cray
Lotta **** talk, you don't ever get paid
Fuck **** hate, broke bitches throw the shade
Written by: Clifford Harris, Gamaliel Hilson, Gamaliel Warren Hilson Iii, Rodrequez Yancy